


Vintage Sort of Faerie Tale

by Blu (BluBooThalassophile)



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Adult Sarah Williams (Labyrinth), Celtic Mythology & Folklore, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Fairy Tale Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, Goblins, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Jareth Being Jareth (Labyrinth), Magic, Mystery, Possessive Jareth (Labyrinth), Queen Sarah Williams (Labyrinth), Slow Burn, Stubborn Sarah Williams (Labyrinth)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27717013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluBooThalassophile/pseuds/Blu
Summary: A girl who danced with the Fae couldn't be normal, not after being touched by magic; too old to turn, but too young to keep; she would forever reside somewhere between myth and reality. This never bothered her though, for magic brought wonder to her life, but now it merely brings horror to her as something is snatching children from her small village and it isn't the Goblin King.
Relationships: Jareth/Sarah Williams, Sarah Williams & Toby Williams
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Vintage Sort of Faerie Tale

It wasn't often the village got new residents, tourist or otherwise; it was an out of the way spot located in forever green, rolling hills. It was the sort of village kids were always itching to leave, and the sort they came back to if their big dreams of life in the city didn't pan out or when they realized that life in the city was a lot more than they were expecting. It wasn't the sort of place the young came.

So, when she showed up, she was a novelty.

She looked like a faerie tale come to life when she walked off the bus, long, black coat, brilliant red fedora, leather boots and endlessly long ebony hair. Her lips were stained red, and there was this otherworldliness about her which enchanted people, especially when her emerald eyes were on them with rapt attention. She looked like an adventurer from another era, or an escaped faerie princess on the run. There was a dreaminess about her, and it seemed enhanced in a way to make her creamy skin glow like it was kissed by moonbeams.

The lass moved into a tiny, dreary cottage which had more garden than house, down the road from the village. People talked about her though when she had walked with a large, ancient steamer trunk in tow, through the village without a hitch in her stride and as graceful as a ballerina.

The village folk talked about her in hushed tones, curious whispers, and awe, for she was still a novelty. She went about her business in town quietly, never speaking more than she had to, polite as could be with all the 'please's and 'thank you's a person could give. Children adored her, spoke of the wonders, and adventures her garden offered and it was the children who taught the village the most about her.

Her name was Sarah, no last name ever provided. She was a writer, a story writer, she spun tales like it was magic and enthralled the village children. She danced with faeries, drank tea with kings, thwarted goblins, and befriended monsters according to the children who seemed to worship her like she was some queen. The lass was enchanting to everyone in this way, for she seemed the sort to do it, not quite real and not quite magic, something in between, something lost, or misplaced.

She came in about two or three times a week to the local pub, O'Malley's at peek hours, book in hand and an order for a pint and a sniffer of whiskey; never wine or martinis or something like that. She went to an abandoned booth and sat alone with her book, her red cap on the table and quiet as a church mouse. The first few lads who had attempted to woo her were woefully disappointed when all she gave them was a charmed smile and an absent dismissal before she returned to her book. For a lass so lovely to look upon she was cruel, gussied up and unwilling to be wooed, courted, or called upon, she was uninterested in the attention she seemed to draw.

Farmers would see her traipsing about the greenery, never uneasy about the wilderness around her, it was like she was a nymph or fairy herself for she disappeared; according to most.

Neighbors were welcomed to her home, which was usually smelling of fresh herbs, flowers, and something else no one could ever place. There were warm biscuits, good tea, and lovely company for those who sought her out, she did not seem to mind lending an ear or time for them. Her smile was a reward for entertaining tales, while her empathy was obvious for the troubling woes of her neighbors. Nary a personal thing was known about the lass beyond her infinite love of books, which had somehow come to fill the small cottage she resided in, not a nook or cranny didn't have a book present. And if it wasn't books it was records, music of all kinds seemed to pour from the tiny cottage at all hours, ranging in styles, genre, and artists.

From time to time the lass would leave, where to; no one had the heart to ask, children kept the upkeep of her garden though, claiming to be gnome hunting, or managing her pixies. Sarah never seemed to mind, paying the children in stories and hot biscuits when she returned. Village folk though it sweet or absent-minded kindness, but it endeared her to them all the same.

When one caught her unawares though, that was when she would break your heart and be none the wiser. There was this soulful, wistfulness about her, a sorrow when she let her guard down that just stole your breath away. It was a misplaced look on her youthful features, for the lass couldn't be later than her late twenties, and yet it looked as if she were forever out of time, out of place. It was the forlorn look upon her features which had lads accepting she didn't want their courtships, but she'd accept their flirting and return it with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Especially once she started working in the pub a few nights a week, which surprised locals.

Life just seemed to pour out of the girl's heart, wild and pure, unpredictable, and unfathomable, she could sing and dance with the best of them. She'd put on a show when cornered into doing it by the children, but she never sang or dance with the lads or gentlemen of the town and seemed careful not to. There was a wariness about her with the forlorn looks, like she couldn't bear the wrong partner but yearned for one all the same, which confounded folks, but they left her be about it.

And within a year it was like she had always been here, within two she was a fixture of their village; their quirky fantasy writer who occasionally tended bar at O'Malley's Pub on nights that it struck her fancy.

* * *

Sarah was grumbling to herself as she drove in a borrowed truck for Knock Airport, cursing the cold which had seemed intent on settling in her bones. Sometimes she questioned her sanity for moving to Ireland, especially as this truck rattled, but she didn't slow or waver in her quest.

The move to Ireland had seemed brilliant at the time, she had landed herself an agent in London, and living in a city hadn't held appeal and she found the English countryside too dreary, especially after a month. So, she had traveled most of the British Isle, from the Scottish Highlands to the English countryside and couldn't find a place appeal. Her agent had been reluctant when she informed him, she would be house hunting in Ireland next, but relented as she continued her pursuit. Eventually she found a place in County Mayo; couldn't understand half her neighbors, but that was fine. The children had been a brilliant audience, and great sounding board for some of the magical aspects of her stories.

The cottage she had bought on a small inheritance from her grandmother; apparently Linda Williams had infuriated grandma Betty who had disowned her and willed everything to Sarah. What hadn't covered her college tuition was squirreled away and invested for future use by her businessman father. It hadn't left her with much, but her savings had managed to buy her the cottage, which she had fallen in love within a photograph. It was like it was made for her. It had stolen her heart and she hadn't attempted to get that back.

The cottage was small, two bedrooms, one bath, a bit of a fixer upper, which she had done on her own with help of the dwarves Hoggle had sent her way. Ludo had been so happy to be summoned to her tiny cottage that he had redone her rock wall in the garden overnight. Sir Didymus had been thrilled to patrol her small property checking it over to ensure her safety, she had been amused but accepted his aid graciously.

She was surprised when a nest of pixies made their home in her garden, as well as the annoyance of gnomes. Gnomes were a nuisance, she didn't get how anyone could think those annoying little ankle biters were garden protectors; the children who visited her loved chasing them and she tended to let them because she wanted the gnomes out of her gardens. The pixies were like birds, if she left them be, they left her be, but the gnomes had to go! There was other magic Sarah would see, elves for one thing, or fairies or whatever the locals called them, were everywhere. Goblins too, she took some amusement out of the goblin antics, knowing they liked spoiling milk, or hiding keys, and tangling hair when people were sleeping. Occasionally she would see a creature; usually in the city which reminded her of **_him_** and would have her hurrying the opposite direction as quickly as she could.

Thinking of **_him_** always made her sad and frustrated in the same thought, it was like he was haunting her but he wasn't ever _**here**_ , she hadn't seen feather nor hair of him, not even an owl and she wondered if ever would see him again. But at the same time, she dreaded that idea as much as she yearned for an encounter or battle of wills and wits with him. No one interested her after him, a part of her was seeking him out, seeking the challenge, the thrill, the mystery he presented, but another part of her feared the mere notion of encountering him in all his glory again. He was a challenge, one that she hadn't understood as a teenager, and one she was curious about as a woman, but also terrified of. Hoggle kept her informed to **_his_** antics and general surly disposition, though she knew her dwarf friend wasn't much better at the surly disposition either she didn't press Hoggle for information on **_him_**.

Overall though she liked the touch of magic in her life, and the children in town seemed enthralled by it. The locals had mostly accepted her as an eccentric writer, she was an oddity in their world, she sensed that her vintage tastes in fashion, as well as her generally quiet demeanor were all odd things.

Still, she was neighborly enough to borrow Mr. Finnegan's truck to drive to Knock Airport to collect her baby brother. Toby had apparently conned Karen into agreeing to him spending a summer with her last year; how Sarah didn't want to know, and Robert had been reluctant to agree. After all but promising that she would throw herself on a bomb to keep Toby safe (never mind where she lived had a zero crime rate and she was the first outsider in four generations to actually move there), Karen and Robert had agreed to let him come visit her; all summer, from the last day of his school, to the weekend before Labor Day when his schooling would kick back up. Toby had been thrilled, Sarah was too, but she was still unsure entirely how this summer was going to work.

Her agent, Daniel Clarke, had four meetings set up for her to attend to; two in London, one in Manchester and another in freaking Birmingham; she wanted to tear her hair out in frustration because she couldn't take Toby on those meetings but she couldn't leave her brother to his own devices in Ireland. She could just see the disasters of that unfolding, between the magic in her house and the natural mischief of children her brother could probably find more trouble than she knew what to do with. Sighing, she would have to figure that dilemma out later.

It was a bit later when she pulled up to the terminals of the airport and went to a loading zone. Getting out of the truck she waited patiently as she went in to double check Toby's flight time, pleased to see that he was already at the belt looking for his bag.

Biting her lip in glee she snuck through the small crowd as she crept up behind him.

Her brother was so absorbed in what he was doing he hadn't noticed her until she tickled his ribs.

"Here we like to fatten children up for stews," she giggled, Toby let out an ear piercing squeal as he jumped in the air like someone had trodded on his grave, then spun around to glare at her as she laughed.

"Not funny Sarah!" he snapped.

"Sure it is, that your bag, gremlin?" she asked as a massive hockey duffle came out.

"Yeah," he nodded, she snatched it up with ease as she slung it over her shoulder.

"So, you want to tell me about what you've been up to?"

"Mom and Dad are fighting a lot," he stated.

"Yeah," she nodded seriously.

"I couldn't take it anymore," he admitted rather morosely.

"You're always welcomed here Toby," she promised.

"Thanks!" he smiled sunnily up at her.

"Did you pack warm clothes?"

"It's summer Sarah!"

"Trust me, you want to feel your toes at night, warm clothes are a must," she admitted. "We'll get you some wool socks on the way home."

The twelve-year-old nodded as she tossed his bag in the back seat and loaded him up in the massive, rusty farm truck.

"This is going to be so cool!" he declared gleefully. She chuckled at his joy as she started up the old truck and pulled out of the airport as she expertly changed gears. Her heart lurched as a massive owl flew out of a tree, but she didn't slow as she started rapid firing questions to her brother.


End file.
